Happiness
by Leelu's skittles
Summary: Devoid of happiness in his childhood, twisted by the prophecy, Harry his but a shadow in the night. He is determined to change that. But, not for himself. Not exactly.


**Title**: _Happiness_

**Fandom**: _Harry Potter_

**Words**: _1136_

**Warnings**: _Foreshadowing of death by not so pleasant means, swearing, time travel. Nothing too bad. _

**Disclaimer**: _Do not own...blah blah blah...more sex...etc. etc... less of Harry being a complete pussy that couldn't fight his way out of a wet paper bag and other such complete bullshit..._

"And may I enquire as to your name, Sir?" The woman in front of him was short and chubby. Her fingers were squat and pudgy as they gripped the pen she was writing with. Her shiny name tag read '_Lydia'_ and her pig like facial features were scrunched up in what Harry supposed was an attractive smile. Her hair was pulled back in a tight, unflattering ponytail and her clothes were a disgusting shade of puce.

"My name is Anthrax Ignigena."

She quickly scribbled it down in the book, hurrying to appease the intimidating figure in front of her. He had waltzed in several minutes ago and walked straight up to her. A large trench coat that fell from his broad shoulders, accentuating them, and flapping around his ankles silently as he walked. Black leather pants, tight to his body, along with a dark red dress shirt, combat boots and the trench coat would have made anyone look imposing. But Lydia suspected that this man could have walked around naked, or in a frilly pink tutu and still look imposing.

He had broad shoulders, midnight black hair that was pulled back into a low pony tail, strong, aristocratic facial features and ethereal green eyes that seemed to look into her very soul. So Lydia was very, very keen to sign him into the building and have her superiors deal with him. She did not get paid enough to deal with intimidating men that looked as if they could pull out a gun, execute her, and walk away without being bothered.

"I am here to see Vernon Dursley." His voice was deep and gravelly. Lydia felt herself flush as he spoke to her again, this time with a small smile on his face. Intimidating or not, he was _very_ attractive. Lydia finished writing the visitors pass that all visitors to the Grunnings building were forced to wear, and handed it to him.

Long, delicate fingers that were slightly out of place with the rest of his body took the pass. Harry gave her a small nod before moving past the reception desk and to the elevators. Harry thought over his new name again. His descision to come here, not just to Grunnings but to this time, was not rashly thought out. Well, it was, but he had put in preparation. That included a new name, documents and a lot of money.

Anthrax was a disease that killed thousands – just like he was destined. Ignigena was Latin for Born of fire, and this all started with that stupid fucking Goblet of Fire. So Harry had thought that his new name was apt. As the elevator music continued, Harry felt comforted by the weight of the gun slipped in the back of his pants. Shifting slightly, he felt the disillusioned sword of Godric Gryffindor against his leg and, leaning against the wall, Harry could feel the sword of Salazar Slytherin press against his spine.

Wands, while handy for casting spells and good for long and medium range fights, weren't the best for short range fights. Swords were good when you wanted to get up right next to someone and stab the fuck out of them while guns were good for anything. Depending how accurate your aim was. And Harry was a very, very good shot.

Which meant that Harry could relieve his anger by shooting the fuck out of the next son of a bitch death eater that came his way.

Unfortunately, unless they travelled back in time with him too, they were all currently '_innocent, upstanding members of society._' Harry snorted. Bullshit. No Death Eater had been an innocent, upstanding member of society since they'd started Hogwarts. Before, for some of the bastards.

There was a quiet ding before the lift doors slide open, revealing an office space to Harrys eyes. He walked through, quietly and confidently, the visitors pass dangling from a thin cord loosely wound around his fingers. The office was almost empty. It was lunch hour. The few people still there, though, stopped working and starred at him. Harry could recognise a few from when he was younger. He'd seen their faces through the slats on the cupboard when Vernon and Petunia threw dinner parties.

Harry reached a door with Vernon Dursley printed neatly on it. Harrys fingers curled around the cold metal of the door knob and Harry took a deep breath to calm himself; though the door handle would never be perfectly round again. Harry twisted the knob and opened the door, slipping in soundlessly. Harry waited for the large man behind the desk to wake up from his nap.

Five minutes later Harry came to the end of his patience. He walked forward, the thick soled boots not making one sound against the cheap carpeting. Harry twisted his wrist and his wand slipped effortlessly into his hand. Kicking the desk, Vernon jolted awake. His eyes blearily blinked open. His mouth dropped open as he saw Harry. He looked into those unmistakeable eyes, and his watery blue ones flicked up to Harrys forehead. The scar was in clear view.

Opening his mouth to say, or shout, something, he was silenced by the pure evil of the smile that overcame Harrys face. Harry had not felt a genuine smile curl his lips in years and – with Vernons reaction – that was probably a good thing. He had once been told that his smile was a cruel, cheap, twisted mockery of happiness.

"Imperio." Harry hissed, and Vernons eyes went blank. After giving the man instructions to go home and execute his wife and son with a shot gun, Harry left the building. He headed towards where he had parked his motorbike. Standing next to the red bike was a small six year old child, who was small enough to be four. Intelligent green eyes stared up at Harry as he approached. Harry smiled at his younger self, ruffling his messy hair.

"Anthrax, Sir?" Harry asked timidly, curious as to why his new guardian was so happy.

"Call me Da, Harry. Call me Da. And yes, it is done." Harry nodded, a small smile tugging on his innocent lips. Harry seated himself on the bike, lifting the youth behind him. The bike roared to life underneath the two Harrys and Harry, or Anthrax as he would be known to the world, felt his heart melt as small arms curled around his waist. He sped down the streets, intent on arriving home before Dursley so he could see his childhood anguish be splattered across pristine white walls. A face was pressed into his back, not bothered by the invisible sword, and Anthrax felt another genuine smile settle on his face.

Anthrax didn't know about anyone else, but his cheap imitation of happiness felt damn good.

Damn fucking good.


End file.
